Pictures of Lily
by auroraziazan
Summary: Petunia sifts through a box of old photographs. But is she really ready to see some things again, and for the memories she's suppressed for so long?
1. Petunia

Petunia

Petunia sniffled as she took down the box of photographs from the high shelf in the corner of the closet. She had put these off till last of Vernon's things. And these pictures, she hadn't seen in years. Her own collections from her girlhood were in this box, and all the ones she had collected since. Sitting in that box in the closet, waiting for a rainy day, when at least she could no longer avoid them.

Resigning herself to the task, she slowly emptied the box onto her bed, next to the blank pages of the album and the new jar of photo paste she had purchased. The first stack was easy. Several pictures of her as a baby, and a young girl, in brightly flowered dresses. She dutifully pasted these into the book, copying the year and place below each.

She thought she was ready for the next stack, but the wave of emotion she felt as she saw the next picture was unexpected. She was sitting in her grandmother's old rocking chair, in a white dress, feet crossed underneath her, with the tiny redheaded baby on her lap. Petunia moved the album away as a wave of tears and memories engulfed her.

_She had loved Lily, when they first brought her home from the hospital. Lily was a beautiful baby, with soft red wisps of baby hair and those green eyes. She was small, just the right size for a doll baby. And the baby clothes were so darling, and everyone was always coming over with presents for her mother, and the new baby, and they would bring presents for her too, beautiful trinkets, jewelry, dress-up clothes. She had gotten the dress she wore in the picture for Lily's christening._

_But after a few years, she was too old for dolls, and too old not too understand that the people who gave her presents were doing it so she wouldn't notice that it was Lily they cared about. Lily who was the bright one, the beautiful child, the obedient one. Whose every action was sainted. And after a while, Petunia stopped trying to be engaging, to gain attention. She dressed in plain clothes that she had gotten with her own money, earned being a salesgirl at the shop down the street._

_And just after she finished school, when she thought that she would finally be able to get a small flat of her own and not have to deal with it anymore, Lily went and got the letter to that freak school. Their parents had made Petunia come to the station to see her off, and Lily had given her love and wished her goodbye._

And it had been six years before Petunia saw her again. They managed never to be at home for the same Christmas or Easter, and Lily was off at school for most of the year. So it was just before her wedding day that she had seen her sister again. Vernon wanted everything traditional, in a church. Petunia didn't have any girl friends she was close to that she could have as a bridesmaid, and she didn't much care for Marge, Vernon's sister. And so she invited Lily, and moved the date to Easter week, so Lily wouldn't have to miss school.

_Lily's dress was white with a dark green sash and trimming, so it looked different from her own. Their mother had picked out the flowers carefully, mostly yellows, so nothing would clash with the brightness of Lily's hair. And Lily came home with the Potter boy she was dating, another freak, but at least one who could pass for normal in a suit. All the Evans's old friends that hadn't visited since Lily was born saw Lily in her white dress looking so clean and fresh, and where had she been and she had grown up so much. Yet another day Lily had somehow managed to outshine her. Petunia had vowed, then, that it would be the last._

So Petunia really hadn't seen her since. Not at Lily's graduation, or at her wedding to the freak, or even at their parents' funeral. Lily had been caught up with her war then, and was so very pregnant, and it was really dangerous for her to be out, and she wished so much that she could go, but it just couldn't happen. Petunia had received the invitations and cards Lily had sent for all the events, and for Harry's birth, but she just filed them all away with the rest of the pictures, for some future year when it mattered less.

And for the next year, it was easy not to think about Lily, to forget about her glowing sister for once. She had Dudley to take care of, and the house to manage, and until the day Vernon asked if he had heard from her, Lily had been the last thing on her mind. Then she tried to push back the memories, until the next morning. And after that, it was pointless to try and forget about the only other pair of eyes so green and luminous.

One by one she pulled out the pictures of Lily. It would be a waste to cut her face out of that many pictures, even worse than bitterly tossing the whole lot in the rubbish bin. And so she got a small box, and tucked them in neatly, with packing wrap around the stack. She had taken Harry in all those years ago to atone for her envy of Lily, and perhaps these were enough that her treatment of him could be forgiven, and she would be forever rid of those haunting green eyes.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Dursleys, Evanses, or Potters referred to in this story. They all belong to Mrs. Rowling, with our support.

A/N: I'm not sure if I'll continue this or not. I didn't intend it to be a one-shot fic, but it ended up more conclusive and less episodic than I originally intended. And I came very close to making myself cry.


	2. Remus

Remus

After Sirius's funeral, Remus removed his things from the rental flat he had stayed in. No sense paying the extra galleons, he sighed. And no sense carting around junk forever either. Once he had it all set up in his room, enlarged to fit a few beloved pieces of furniture, he began sorting through the boxes. The books would all stay, of course. Most of the robes and clothes went back into the wardrobe, though a few were worn enough that they weren't fit for anything but the rag bin. He delighted in burning away the few cheap boxes as he emptied them.

Most of his teaching things, Albus was storing for him at Hogwarts. He lifted out a few of his toys. The orbs his father had given as a graduation gift, he set to floating softly. The old record player held the place of honor atop what had been a night stand, and he left his enormous record collection in its box beneath. He quietly flipped through them. The old big band ones he had nicked from his mother's collection, the rock-and-roll James had loved, and Sirius's - what were they called? - his Motown, that was it, those American records that Remus had stored for him, because Mrs. Black wouldn't allow them in the house. And then he got to the far end of the box, and Lily's folk records.

There he stopped. Lily had introduced him to those, the softer songs, and the war protests, that he felt more and more need for once they graduated. He pulled out the last, worn album cover, the one that bulged in the middle. Buffalo Springfield. For What It's Worth. The record wasn't inside. He knew it wouldn't be. Baby Harry had broken that one, and Lily had apologized but practically thrown out the pieces. He pushed on the edges, and stacks of old papers fell out. He dumped them on the bed with the contents of the last box and began to flip through the years of notes and doodles and photographs.

_His first time going to Hogwarts. He had met the red headed girl before he even got on the platform. She had just hugged and kissed her family, who were beginning to leave, and she stood, staring at the platform. He walked through with false confidence, mouthing goodbye to his mum who had come out to watch. She bumped through immediately behind him, upsetting both their carts. He nervously reset both of them, and decided firmly that if he was going to make a real go of it at school, he had best start immediately. "Sorry about that," he had said. "Can I help you get these up into the luggage car?" She accepted eagerly, and then followed him to the first empty car they had found. She was Muggle-born, and still a little in awe of all the things she was seeing. Just wait, he had said, until we get to Hogwarts. You won't believe it. And she hadn't. She hadn't even realized he was a first year, he seemed so confident, until they were on a boat together. She didn't know that he had already been to Hogwarts, been shown around, met the Headmaster._

There were dozens of pictures from that first year. Quidditch matches, early pranks, picnics, hanging out in the common room. Some of them laughed and waved at him, but a good deal were Muggle pictures. Back when it was okay to do Muggle things. Before the war came on, and everything was preparation, and choosing sides, and fun was followed by a sick sort of guilty feeling. Growing up pictures followed. Summer visits to Peter's small house, or James's large one. The Quidditch World Cup, from the summer before fourth year.

_Lily got as excited about Quidditch as any girl did back then. She didn't follow the local teams too much, but when James's dad announced that he had gotten us all tickets for a few matches the last week, and the tournament was only over in Germany. It had been amazing. Lily camped in the small tent with Mrs. Potter, and the four boys got the big one with Mr. Potter. James was used to Ministry functions, but Remus had never been around that many wizards in his life. It was amazing. It was unbelievable. It was also the last matches Lily was to see, because James made the team during tryouts that fall, and she refused to go watch him. Once the time they were dating seventh year, she sat in the stands between Remus and Peter covering her eyes, as they reported the action on the pitch._

It had taken her until that trip to discover his condition. The other boys had figured out almost two years before, but since she didn't shower or room with him, she was less likely to notice either his scars or his peculiar absences.

_It was late, the night before the final match. She had had a nightmare of some sort, and stumbled into the boys' tent unknowingly. She woke up with a cry of alarm when her shins met the side of his bed. He quickly pulled her inside the curtains before the other boys could see her, and muttered some apology to them for the noise. It was an awkward sort of comfort moment. She latched onto his side, and he put an arm around her nervously. He had been sleeping in just a pair of cutoff pants, and wasn't used to being this close to girls. After she had calmed down some, she just looked at him in the dim moonlight, and as her eyes adjusted she saw the scars that crossed his back and chest. She had been skeptical before, but now he knew that there was no way around telling her. She had been totally accepting, only asking how long ago it had happened, and what she could do to help him. The way she always was with him._

That was why she had taken up Healing. She would spend hours practicing the charms, and eventually she would wait up in the common room, slipping out to the willow and the shack when she saw the moon come down. She would fuss over his scrapes and scratches, his bruises and occasional breaks. The better part of three years she did that, until the other had perfected their transformations. He hadn't needed her after that, but she came still, and he was relieved that she no longer faced the danger of arriving before he had changed back. She had saved his life one night, midwinter, when the other boys couldn't come and he had spent the night smashing against the walls only to transform bruised and bloody and little more than naked in the drafty house.

But it hadn't all been that. There were good times, and good pictures. When they taught her to fly a broomstick up to the roof, and held picnics and football matches on top of the school. Wandering through Hogsmeade. Getting lost in Muggle London. He even had a picture of when she first kissed James, though a fortnight of Charms essays had ensured that Lily would never know about that one. It got harder for him to look at the later pictures. Of graduation, and the wedding, and the Order. Of a laughing Lily growing more and more pregnant. Of Mr. and Mrs. Evans's funeral, which he had attended in her place to put the final resting spells over their grave. Of Harry's birth. Christmases, and parties, and late night planning and chocolate chip cookie sessions. Ten years of pictures, until after Harry's first birthday, when the Potters disappeared as planned.

Ten years of his parents' life Remus knew Harry would want, should understand. And yet, as he looked, he couldn't bear to part with the last traces of comfort and familiarity these pictures would offer him. Wiping his eyes, he found an empty album and a jar of photo paste.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Still.

Author's Notes: So I did continue it, it just took me ten months. I'm not sure if I can take any more of this. Lily-sentiment is emotionally draining. Tell me what you think, send love and encouragement, and tell me if there is anyone whose input is needed.


	3. Peter

Peter

It was dark when a small rat slipped through a whole in the back screen of the little house in Chipping Sodsbury. Had anyone been able to see it enter, they wouldn't have been surprised at its presence. That house had fallen to disrepair years ago, back when there were so many reports about the gas explosion that had killed the boy from the family there. All sorts of strange creatures hung around that place. Had anyone bothered to remember, the creatures had been larger and stranger back when the boy was still alive, but Peter never had been a very memorable boy.

So he came to be standing in his old bedroom, in the soft light of the full moon. He could never sleep on full moon nights, hadn't once since they had found out about Remus. Which was many nights lying awake, as often as not he discovered himself staring at the moon, paralyzed with fear and guilt and haunting illusions. And that was why he was here tonight, to finally exorcize himself of the memories that prevented him from abandoning his past.

But it was a daunting task that faced him. Everywhere he turned, there were pictures Stacks of Muggle and wizard photographs lay on the dressers. Albums of notes and clippings and records sat on the shelf. A whole corkboard was full of tacked up sketches he had done, while all four walls were covered in faces, hand-drawn, smiling, winking, laughing faces. And he was disabled by them. He could have done something to the papers, burned or shredded or exploded or something, had they been on there own. And the Muggle photos, that stared blankly with fake grins and unnatural events. But not like this. He could not crucify his idols as they smiled back benevolently.

Remus stared from his left. A young, shy Remus, a laughing one, a crying one, with his head over a book, staring out the window, sleeping peacefully, and even the werewolf, losing his puppy curves, with the wind rippling his fur, muscles tensed in a silent howl at the undrawn moon. There. He'd start there. He had never liked the wolf. When they finally discovered their animals, he was thankful for the deficits in his stature that would keep him away from the wolf. With a simple charm, the fur on the wolf began to smoke, and then to flicker, until the whole creature caught illustrated flame, and within a minute had disappeared into a fading pile of ash. Amidst its distress, the rest of them caught, until the whole wall was aflame. And Moony would haunt him no more.

The wall in front was Sirius. Sirius smiling, laughing, with ridiculous haircuts, with hats, dripping wet, on his broom, in dress robes, dancing, singing, snoring, and of course, transformed. The monstrous Grim seemed out of place among the lazy grins. The terror and fright of his last year as a rat had grown into enough bitterness to make Sirius worthy of destruction. This spell was a slicer, slowly cutting up the images, small pieces at a time, as the blood dripped and pooled. And then Padfoot was gone too.

A turn to the right brought images of James. The golden boy of Gryffindor. He even seemed to be haloed in most of the pictures. His wall was thick with James flying, and playing with the Snitch, becoming invisible, reading, eating, sleeping, swimming, in classes, in the corridors, on the roof. And central to it all was the glorious moon-bathed stag in front of the forest, possibly the most beautiful creature Peter had even seen, and the most skilled of his drawings. And in a foul swoop returned all his memories of James, mocking him, ignoring him, commanding him, excluding him, coercing him. And so it was without remorse that Peter watched the dark form of the Lethifold swallow up the radiance of Golden Boy, Sr., and cloud the moonlight and the magnificent antlers of Prongs.

But as the third wall cleared, before he could turn to the last, Peter remembered what it portrayed. Remembered, and felt the resolve in him dissipate. He turned cautiously, but he could not escape the terrible image that faced him. The buck disappeared from his memory as it had from the wall. For there was no way its merit held a candle to the larger-than-life perfection before him.

_Lily hadn't wanted to pose for him. She wasn't feeling too well that day, and Sirius had made some sort of mess in the house that she wanted to be off cleaning. But Peter had pleaded with her, and with the final result they both realized it was worth it. She sat on a low hanging tree branch, leaning back with her eyes just open. The sun was setting behind her, turning her edges to a pure gold. Her hair spilled from her back over one shoulder, over a bosom grown expansive and a belly rounded with pregnancy. Even without the sunlight, she glowed that day. Glowed with peace, and love, and a purity that had melted them all around her._

And he knew, as he stared dumbly at the woman looking back at him, that he couldn't touch her. The boys had their faults, their shortcomings and blemishes. But Lily was innocent. She was generous, patient, helpful, the pinnacle of virtue. He hadn't meant for her to be killed. It was her fault, he considered, for aligning herself so poorly. He drew and pointed his wand hopefully. But he could not touch her. Whatever had happened in the past, she was his goddess, and goddesses must be worshiped. His wand dropped and he fell to his knees, weeping in the moonlight.

Disclaimer: I don't own him either.

Author's Note: This came at a suggestion from a friend (who knows who she is). It was a heck of a lot harder to write than the other two. It may have come out a little purpler than I intended to be - warn me if it did, and I'll try to change it. I think this will have to be the conclusion of it, unless anyone comes up with anyone else who needs some emotional completion. Till then, Jacy.


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